Government of Panem

anger is a wind which blows out the lamp of the consciousness

Despite training to be a career, Angelus had never been an angry or truly violent until the last few years. His older brother Cassius had been chosen as tribute for Two when Angelus was only fourteen. Cassius had always been the pride and joy of the family, Angelus was second place in his parents eyes, unable to hold a candle to the light his brother shown. Perhaps that's why his family was so devastated when Cassius never returned home, his life snuffed out by the brutal hands of the games. When Cassius didn't come home, Angelus expected his parents to put him in Cassius place, expected their attention and support as he worked at training for his own chance at the games. This wasn't the case. They ignored him, giving up all hope as Angelus was still seen as a disappointment in their eyes. His first act out towards his parents was setting his brother's room on fire. His parents had kept it the exact same as when Cassius left for the games, so sure that he'd come back. Since then it had become their temple to him, spending hours just standing in silence within the confines of their dead son's room. Even then his parents paid him no mind, brushing it off as an accident, thinking that there was no way their nobody-son could act out. That's all Angelus was to them, a nobody, a shadow in the room, another mouth to feed. Angelus became angry then, forgetting who he was and losing all conscious thought. His actions grew impulsive, always feeding off the ever growing anger inside of him.

the characters emerge from my rather twisted head

Angelus Rigby Taylor no longer exists. Or maybe he does and is locked away in some dark corner of this monster's imagination. His name is Angel now, a fitting name as he believes himself to be the Angel of Death. Angelus had worked hard to gain the attention of his parents, becoming the best hunter he could possibly be, pushing himself to his limits for just one word of praise. None was given. Then one day Angelus pushed himself too far and he hurt someone, badly. There was blood, a lot of it. At first he had been frightened, shaking hands trying to stop the bleeding as the others around him called for help. As the crimson liquid covered his hands they began to still, his heavy breathing became calmer, and he realized how easy it had been to bring this person to Death's door and how quickly he could have ended their suffering there and then. Yet it seemed that luck was in the other boy's favor as people pulled Angelus away from him, getting the boy the help he needed. He went to sleep that night thinking of Death and woke in a cold sweat, seeing blood on his clean hands. This became a regular pattern for Angelus, but as he kept pushing himself he found it harder and harder to wake up. Instead the blood on his hands seemed to be natural to him, like it belonged there. It marked him, it showed others of what he was capable and brought fear into their hearts. His parents were starting to notice him now, picking out the differences that had occurred. Since when had their son gotten so confident? The son that was always begging for their attention was now ignoring them. Angelus Rigby Taylor never woke up one morning, instead some inner demon that calls himself an Angel took his place.

it's not being cocky, it's being confident

Angel believes that what Cassius had been lacking was confidence. His parents were confident in him, friends and other relatives were confident in him, but looking back Angel can see that Cassius had no confidence in himself. Cassius was a great fighter, Angel could agree with that much, but all that talent went to waste on someone who didn't know how to use it. He'd taken other people's word for how good he was, growing cocky with his skills and never bothering to hone in on his talent. He let everyone else mold him into what they wanted him to be, and that was clearly not strong enough for the games. Angelus didn't have that. Angelus's talent was raw, purely his own. His parents weren't around him enough to mold him into what they wanted and that made Angelus special, that made Angel dangerous. It was like a brick wall. Angelus had gotten the cement and the bricks collected up and in his possession and Angel was the one to build it up. There was such a stark difference between Angelus and Angel it was sometimes hard to remember they were the same person. Whereas Angelus had always been starving for his parent's attention and approval, Angel couldn't have cared less. He was confident in his own abilities, half of the time he slacked during training, finding the idea of it worthless. He was training his ability to kill without the satisfaction of an actual kill towards the end. Dummies could only go so far.

the neurotic have problems, the psychotic have the solutions

It sometimes scared Angelus to be inside his own mind, to see the things that he would do but have no real conscious thought over them. There were a few times where Angelus could gather the tiniest bit of control over his body, though most of that time was spent shivering at the thought of what monstrosities his own hands had dealt. In these times his hands shook uncontrollably, his mind raced, and every ounce of calm and strength that Angel held faded away into this terrified creature. What had he become? He'd wanted to be strong, he wanted to mean something to his parents, to the world. Instead he'd become some monster, some demon that threatened and even occasionally brought death upon others with an unruly fist. He had gotten one of the things he'd wanted though. Attention. Others were sure to pay attention when he was around, watching his every move just in case Angel was feeling his infamous blood lust. They never spoke to him though, terrified that, by the exchanging of words, they'd involuntarily be placed on his hit list. Angel seemed to be content with this though; Angelus had problems and Angel felt that he'd given his other side solutions. No matter how warped they may be, Angel was pleased with himself, and he let everyone know it.

uncaring about the suffering of those in developing world

There was one memory that Angelus could never forget, the pain that he was unable to stop it haunted his every waking moment. It was the final straw that broke Angel, that finally made him give up control of his body fully to this monster within him, knowing that he could do nothing to stop himself. The blood that once stained his hands now stained his very soul, his reflection was now a complete stranger to him, eyes gleaming cockily, possessing a strength that Angelus could never have hoped to have. His stomach twisted painfully when he remembered the moment where things had gone from terrible, to irreversibly monstrous. Never would Angelus raise a hand to hurt someone who either didn't deserve it or didn't expect it, such as training or one of the typical fights he'd gotten into with bullies at a young age. But that was child's play, and he was a man now. Angel's actions were beyond reasoning, and could be described as nothing more than a power display. He could find no other excuse for Angel to go after Dustin. Dustin, the same boy that had brought the monster out of him, now dead. Angel remembered the day that he had the boy beneath his hands, so close to death, and he was angered at the thought that Angelus had let the opportunity literally slip between their fingers. Granted it was never proved that Angel was behind the death, he'd been sure to make it look like an accident, but Angelus had seen from behind his own eyes. Had watched as Dustin fell lifelessly to the ground, had felt numbness from Angel, terrified at how uncaring this alternate personality of his had become. Though he supposed Angel wasn't so 'alternate' anymore, taking full control of their body.

to be reserved, secretive, with a passionate violence that causes suffering

To everyone else Angel may have been scary, may have been strong, but that was as far as it went. They weren't aware of how far the rage went, how deeply Angel had fallen into madness. He kept many secrets, skeletons in his closet all screaming a tale of suffering. Angel was not only particularly good at fighting, but also quick witted with a sharp tongue that could cut as deeply as a knife. If given enough time, Angel was fully capable of getting into someone's mind and completely destroying it. Though his cockiness did sometimes prove to be a hindrance and made it easy to tell just how dangerous he could be if one were around him long enough. Though the more people stayed away from him, the more the madness within just seemed to build, and the angrier he became. Angelus remembered when it was subtle; the clenching of his jaw, the grinding of his teeth, a rapid heart rate, and a spiked temperature. He missed those days. There wasn't an area of his bedroom that hadn't been destroyed. Holes were punched through his walls, paper was burned just to watch the fire dance and occasionally lick at his fingers, leaving angry red marks. Simply to feel the burn, to feel something, because when there was no one else to bring suffering to, he brought it upon himself.